The Wood
by ehcorns
Summary: It began with the window and then she was in their world. The story of a girl's journey from Narnia into 1940s London.
1. The window to the woods

**CHAPTER ONE**

 **"The window to the woods"**

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky and bathed the ruins of Cair Paravel in a dusky red, making the ancient sandy stones uncomfortably hot under Alba's bare feet. The weathered half-wall lay crumbling into the tall grasses, little bits of shells chipping off as she tiptoed across like a tightrope walker above a silent but awed crowd of spectators. Little of the citadel remained, much of it strewn across the hillside as if a giant had come thundering by with a thick tree trunk as a club and smashed it to smithereens. Alba tried to imagine what it must have looked like in its former glory, with flying buttresses and spiraling towers, with soldiers lining the keep and archers readying their arrows. She mimed loosing an arrow at an invisible enemy that hid behind a porous grey boulder.

"D'you think they had lots of parties, Ludil?" she asked her daemon, a little tufted titmouse, who was hopping along after her.

The grey-crested bird fluffed its wings as it nearly lost its balance over the edge—he was still getting used to his settled form—and once he was righted again, he chirped a reply. "I don't doubt they didn't," he said. "Should we be getting back to the camp? It's getting late and I don't like it when it gets dark."

"Oh, hush," Alba rolled her eyes and turned her gaze to the sparkling whitecaps churning far out of the bay. She squinted hard, hoping to see a tailfin or two, from a dolphin or a fish or even a naiad like the stories she'd heard. A few minutes passed and she saw nothing but the cresting waves and heard only the shrieking of gulls and thunderous echoes of the water crashing into the cliff side.

Alba had never seen a real Narnian, even though she often bragged she had to the other children of the caravan. Her parents were important people, so Alba was frequently left to her own devices while they dealt with clan matters and politicking. She liked to tell embellished stories of her adventures to the clan children: a small housecat chasing after Ludil became a ferocious tigress set upon making him a meal for her cubs, a slip and tumble down a hill became a life-threatening rockslide into a violent ravine, and an unassuming encounter with a modest group of travelers became a week-long standoff with rogue bandits, ending only when they all perished from the bitter cold. "How did you survive?" One child would ask in wonder, swiftly prompting another long-winded tale of how she did just that. But today, there were no children around to awe with her stories, so she had to make do with the constant company of her daemon and her imagination.

With a great leap and an audible " _oof_ ", she landed on her hands and knees, realizing a beat too late that she'd gone and dirtied her freshly washed shift. She fought back a grimace and hoped that her parents wouldn't take any notice when she returned to camp.

"I wonder what the kings and queens who lived here were like," she said. "Can you imagine having /four/ rulers? I'll bet they never agreed on anything."

"It would be much like our councils," replied Ludil matter-of-factly—he listened to their lessons, unlike Alba, who spent most of their history lectures doodling in the margins of the old texts and daydreaming. What Alba did know of the rulers was basic: they had been the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve and had led a battle against a wicked witch from another world. Then, after some years, they disappeared during a hunt for a white stag that was said to grant wishes. The daemon-less peoples speculated in their texts that the Kings and Queens had perished in an accident or had suffered a crueler fate at the hands of enemies. Alba's grandmother had told her that they had found the blessed pools in the woods between worlds and gone home. Alba didn't know what she meant. Ludil said there was nothing of pools or mysterious woods in the texts.

"If I ever found the white stag," she told Ludil, "I would wish for a place we could stay and live without them Telmarines tellin' us what to do and where to go all the time."

Only when the light faded and the shadows were indistinguishable, did Alba and Ludil make for the caravan. But on their way, Alba stumbled over a stubborn little stone hidden in the grass. She dug her fingers into the dirt and pried it loose, feeling her fingers close around the most peculiarly shaped stone.

"Ludil, look," she called, and her daemon alighted on her wrist as soon as she spoke, his own beady eyes filled with curiosity as he peered at the rock resting on her palm. "What is it?" She asked.

With his sharp grey beak, Ludil prodded the object several times before announcing, "it looks like a chess piece!"

"What's it doing here?"

Ludil tapped the cold marble once more and then flew to perch on Alba's shoulder, his tiny talons digging into her calfskin vest. "There's plenty of possibilities, but it's very dark now and we should go home," he said.

Alba pocketed the chess piece and listened, for once, to her daemon's pestering. She decided that they would return tomorrow and explore the bay.

It was not long before they spotted the warm firelight from the caravan's many tents and wagons. The sounds of soft murmuring melded with the crackling fires and occasional whinny of a carthorse. Alba wove between tents with so many patches they looked like kaleidoscopes and some with hundreds of strings of beads and feathers that sounded almost musical as they clinked gently in the evening breeze. She soon came upon a large canvas tent with its flaps pulled shut and a low rumble of voices drifting out. A young boy Alba recognized as Tam, son of one of a council member, sat in the dirt playing with his daemon, at the moment in the shape of a wily polecat. He had a wooden top and they would both watch it until the polecat would bat at it with its paw and tip it over. Alba watched him for a moment, and then Ludil nipped her earlobe to remind her what she was supposed to be doing.

At her footsteps, the boy looked up at her lethargically and gave her a half-hearted, bleary-eyed smile. "Evenin', Alba. Lud'l," he greeted them. His polecat bobbed its head and then went back to mindlessly gazing at the spinning top.

"Hullo, Tam. Hullo, Barna," replied Alba. "Have they not finished yet?" She asked, nodding to the men and women she knew were in the tent. Someone inside briefly raised their voice, but it was quickly lost amidst a sea of responses.

"They've got n'more a right to the land than we do!" one man cried out. Ludil stiffened on her shoulder, his tiny nails sinking more into her vest.

Tam was unaffected as he let out a mammoth yawn and Alba waited impatiently for him to finish. "S'been a while," he said drowsily. "They're mighty not happy 'bout somefing. I reck'n it's the daemon less—they don't like us 'cause we're different. That's what Ma said." His daemon crawled onto his lap and opened its tiny maw in a yawn, the wooden top long forgotten.

"What do you mean? What's happened?" she asked, but Tam shrugged apathetically and Alba watched as his eyes glazed over once more.

"Do you s'pose there's going to be another fight?" Alba asked Ludil as they headed to her parents' empty tent.

"I hope not," Ludil whispered next to her ear; the warmth from his soft little body was a comfort against the menacing thought.

They finally reached a large tent mended with bits of brown- and green- and cream-coloured cloth. Inside, thick pelts and woven rugs protected against the cold hard ground, and plenty of pillows lay about. Half a dozen worn wicker baskets were nestled into one corner while a rusted portable stove was in the other. Alba rummaged through one of the baskets, suddenly famished from her adventuring, and plucked out some dark red apples for herself and a handful of berries for Ludil. She dropped the purplish berries on a nearby pillow and made a nest of furs in which she was soon laying and filling her rumbling belly.

Soon her stomach was at ease, but her mind far from it. She rested her chin on her knees as thoughts swooped in and out as quickly as a hummingbird: why were the adults so agitated? Was it because of the Telmarines, or the Calormene, or the Archenlanders? Or was it another clan? Alba never really understood politicking and whatnot, but she knew that the other clans weren't too friendly with theirs, and she also knew that their relations with the daemon-less were even more brittle.

Ludil flew to the base of her feet, so he could see her face as he spoke to her. "We oughtn't think the worst," he said, but before he could finish his reassurances, the tent's flap was pulled aside and a man's haggard, bearded face appeared. He had sharp grey eyes like Alba, and wild long locks that were more grey than brown; his daemon, a lean black panther, waited patiently outside, her expression drawn and grim. Unlike his daemon, Chief Isel's face betrayed nothing.

Alba perked up and moved to sit on her legs, staring at her father, wide-eyed and expectant. Ludil flew to his usual spot on the crook of her neck, his downy underside tickling her skin.

"Where did you go explore, today?" He asked.

"The ruins, of course!" Alba exclaimed, and she began to revisit the day's adventures until she recalled why she was waiting in her parents' tent. "But never mind that—" she said, "What's been going on? Why's the council all loud and stuff? Is it the Telmarines? I'll bet it's them, all right, because Tam said—"

Her father interrupted her endless stream of questions with a raised hand. "It is nothing to worry about, my dear. The council is in debate with a proposal I have made regarding the clan's future," he told her, his daemon, now sitting, flicked her ears back for a brief moment, but Alba caught the movement and immediately knew that her father was not telling the whole truth. Then again, when did he ever tell her everything?

And when Alba knew she shouldn't pry, because Chief Isel was not one to pester, she tried anyway, for she was her mother's daughter: nosy, bossy, and very determined.

"What kind of proposal?" She asked as her father moved to their tiny stove and began preparing tea. He sighed, long and wearily, for he was well accustomed to Alba and her nosiness.

"It relates to what your mother's been up to," he replied.

"What's hunting got to do with anything?" Ludil whispered into her ear and Alba repeated her daemon's words so her father could hear; Ludil was quite afraid of the imposing Chief Isel.

"She's not hunting in the usual sense, Alba; your mother, she's looking for something and when—if—she finds it, it could be very good for our people," said Chief Isel. "Some of the council members believe what she is searching for is far too dangerous and she should not continue, for they fear Telmar discovering the existence of this place as well."

Alba's heart thudded with a fluttery, nervous excitement; a dozen questions hovered at the tip of her tongue, on the verge of spilling out all at once. Ludil nipped her ear again to keep her in check of her feelings, for he could feel them too. "So it's a place, then? Why's Ma looking for it if it's so dangerous?"

Chief Isel regarded her with a scrutinizing eye, as if he was making up his mind about something; he glanced over his shoulder at his daemon and they shared a meaningful look before he spoke. His daemon, Hana, gave an almost imperceptible shake of her melanin head—which Alba caught because she was very keen-eyed.

"This place is a sort of crossroads," he began, tentatively and with much care about his wording. "And if your ma should find it, we could find us a place to settle permanently, should we choose it," he said. Alba waited for him to say more, and when he remained silent, busying himself with the kettle and the tea, she thought hard on what next to ask.

"Is—" she opened her mouth, but her father's daemon let out a warning growl, low yet unsettling and enough to silence her.

"Enough questions for now," he said. Alba's eyes lingered warily on the daemon, as did Ludil's, until her father gently commanded her to look at him. "This is not for other ears, Alba. I tell you little for your own safety. This is a complicated and delicate matter between the council, your ma, and I."

"And all of Telmar and Narnia, apparently," Alba muttered to Ludil. Chief Isel faked a moment of deafness, for he continued his speech, dropping a handful of dried green leaves into a chipped pair of porcelain mugs and filled each with boiling water. He gave one to Alba and kept the other.

Chief Isel then asked her again about the ruins and Alba was obligated to tell him about them. They talked until Alba's mug was completely drained and her eyelids felt heavy; Ludil swayed on her shoulder, lightly snoozing. Only when Alba herself started to doze did her father send her off to bed in her own tent, guided by his panther daemon Hana. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, so Hana pressed herself against Alba's side and used her cat vision to lead the way through the dimness. Alba's tent was just behind her father's, but Hana had to point out the fraying ropes that held the tents upright to keep Alba from tripping over them.

They reached her tent and Hana swiftly turned around and headed back after seeing Alba safely settled. Daemons couldn't travel very far from their humans, because it hurt too much to be away from each other. Alba's grandmother always said a daemon was your soul. The Telmarines and the Archenlanders and the Calormene didn't have daemons; grandma Lomidze explained that their souls were inside them—if they had any at all, that's where they would be. Alba liked to think that their daemons were just invisible, for being without one was just as strange to her as daemons were to the daemon-less. Whenever they passed a town of daemon-less folk, she and Ludil would play a game where they imagined what their daemons would look like. The settled shape of a daemon could give little clues to person's character, like a fox daemon might mean their human was clever or sly or deceiving, and a human with a dog daemon might be loyal or trustworthy or genuine. Alba would enjoy the petty game until an adult in the caravan would chastise her and lecture her about rudeness and judging people.

As she arranged a nest of blankets and pillows, Alba let her mind drift back to the conversation she had with her father and she imagined her mother, swathed in black robes and bird feathers in her hair, sailing through the ancient narnian forests on horseback, her osprey daemon flying close behind. Would they find what they were looking for before the Telmarines did? What were they expecting to find? Alba could scarcely fathom a place where they would fit in, let alone a place to stay forever. It just wasn't the Pulaimen way, which is who they were. They were descendants of the people of Pul, with their daemons and wonderful stories and wandering ways.

Her last thoughts before falling asleep were of the kings and queens of the once great Cair Paravel. A breathy laugh escaped her as she imagined them sitting, uncomfortably, in their rich silks and jewels, atop the crumbling ruins of the ancient city. And then the flowing cloaks and sparkling gems turned to dreams of luxurious royal balls and dinners, all glazed with a hazy awareness that it wasn't real.

 **XxxxXXxxxX**

Over the next several weeks, the weather turned sharply, the nights becoming colder and the winds taking on a bitter chill that seeped deep into Alba's bones and weakening her will to venture out from the toasty warmth of the tents and blasting fires. Each morning, they woke to frosted grounds and air so cold Alba could see her breath. She had taken to wearing her furs: an elk skin parka, its hood rimmed with fox fur, and a pair of elk skin boots, the pelt turned inside out to keep her feet cozy and warm. Her mittens were lined with soft rabbit fur, and she had on a worn pair of trousers that matched her parka and boots. Ludil preferred to stave away the harsh winds either in her pockets or by the nook of her neck, shielded by the thick ring of reddish-brown fox fur.

The morning that marked the thirtieth day of their stay by the sea was the coldest one yet. Alba dressed quickly and soon emerged from her tent to find a fire by which she could warm herself. She passed Tam who was shivering under a broad oak, his daemon peeking out from the front of his coat in the shape of a tawny-coloured cat, and facing a feebly burning fire. He was with a girl around his age with curly black hair and dirt on her cheeks. Alba couldn't remember her name; their caravan was a very large one and Alba didn't know everyone. She waved to them, though they only stared meekly in return.

A crispy strip of meat found its way into her hands and she found a fire for a while, but she was restless and starved for entertainment; by noon, she had been expelled from the vicinities of the caravan until suppertime. Alba felt like the adults singled her out the most from the other children because of her parents.

And so, disgruntled and unfairly chastised, Alba slogged through the tall, dewy grasses by the ruins that she had already explored a dozen times over. They went down to the beach, which was at the base of a steep, winding, and overgrown path, and Alba skipped stones until her furs became stifling and she had to stop to take them off.

She left her parka and mittens on a rock high up on the beach and out of the tide's reach. Left in a rough cotton blouse and her elk skin trousers, Alba trudged unsteadily across the sand. For a while, she pretended she was an adventurer searching for the mysterious place her mother was looking for. Ludil fluttered above, as high as the bond would allow, and acted as a lookout. It was when they were climbing over a smattering of boulders that Alba caught sight of the most peculiar thing hovering a dozen paces ahead, atop a rock shaped like a prickly hedgehog.

It was like a window without a frame and without a wall.

From one angle, crouched low and perpendicular to the coast, she could see through the window. She had almost missed it, because from any other side, there was nothing there. But Alba had sharp eyes and a bright mind, and she snagged a glimpse of a thicket of trees when there were none nearby. It took her a moment to make sense of this, for it wasn't common at all to come across mysterious windows in the air.

"Ludil!" she exclaimed. "Did you see that?"

Ludil flew to her shoulder, although he was bristling with marked curiosity just as strong as hers, her daemon was the voice of timid apprehension. "Maybe we should get Chief Isel first," he said, tightening his little talons, which Alba could feel easily through the thinness of her shirt. "It could be dangerous."

"Live a little, Ludil," chided Alba to her daemon as she crawled toward the window. She stayed low to the rocks to keep it in sight, and made quick progress. Much to Ludil's chagrin, they were soon upon the window.

Alba was completely entranced; the sunlight passed through the window as if it weren't there at all, and from any other side, she couldn't see it even though she knew it was there. When she stopped her circling, Ludil still perched on her shoulder in a feathery ball of nerves, Alba peered head on at the window. Up close, the trees were taller and thicker than the ones they had camped around, the grass was a rich dark green, and the tree canopy was so heavy that the sun's rays barely filtered through. There was no movement, other than the slight sway of branches and falling leaves.

"Do you think we can go through it?" Her question was met with an anxious chirp from her titmouse daemon.

For days now, Alba had been starved for adventure. Her father said they were waiting for good weather before they set out for another place, but Alba knew better; they were waiting for her mother to return from her expedition.

With only a moment's hesitation, Alba thrust her hand through the window, and Ludil let out an alarmed squeak.

They both froze for several beats, and then Alba wriggled her fingers and clenched and unclenched her hands into a fist. She let out a gasp of wonder. "It's like a door, Ludil!" She said. "I wonder if I could fit?"

She grasped the edges while Ludil tittered nervously about her, his feathers sticking up every which way, and heaved herself forward, tumbling headfirst through the window and landing in an unceremonious heap on the forest floor. The air was warm and temperate, like she'd landed in another world altogether. She said so to Ludil, who in turn promptly suggested they go back.

"Why would we want to do that?" She mused, for she knew that Ludil was just as curious as she.

Between the thicket of trees, with their trunks so broad and roots like a giant's gnarled fingers, there was a glimmering. It was a faint, fleeting shimmer that blinked in and out of sight.

"Yes, I see it, too," said Ludil, who knew her thoughts and feelings as wholly as she felt his. Alba could sense, however, that there was an excitement and ardent curiosity blossoming in his tiny, white-feathered breast.

Old leaves and twigs crunched under her hardy boots as they moved toward the shimmering. A breeze tickled her skin and ruffled her hair. She glanced back at the window, just to be sure it was still there, and it was. At the right angle, she could see it like some sort of mirage. Alba wondered if anyone had found it like she had, because the window was difficult to notice. It was small and square and non-existent on all sides but one. Ludil nipped her earlobe, urging her onward.

They quickly came to a clearing full of natural-looking pools, the waters catching bits of sunlight that made it through the canopy and reflecting them like sparkling gems. The pools were spaced evenly and uniform in size, each several feet wide. There had to be more than half a dozen or so.

Alba walked to the closest pool and had to do a double take. Deep below the calm rippling waters was a city.

Gaping, Alba cried out, "It's magic, Ludil! It must be!"

"But is it good magic or bad?" Asked Ludil, fluttering nervously around her head.

Still peering at the strange city, with its tall stone buildings and puffs of smoke, Alba replied pensively. "Magic is magic, Lu. Ma says it's whether a folk's intentions are righteous or not." She crouched down low over the city in the water, her hands resting a hair's width away from the water's edge. She felt like a giant peering down from the heavens.

Ludil wasn't satisfied. "Well, it doesn't look very good," he retorted.

Alba did not grant him a response, for her daemon was right, even if she did not want to admit it out loud. Heavy fumes that swirled and twirled clouded the city in the pool, and the buildings were not at all like the ones in Archenland or Calormene or even Narnia; they were colorful, boxy-like edifices set so closely together, with dozens of clear glass windows and bright awnings. And then on the streets were the most marvelous contraptions: horseless carriages made of painted metals and shiny chrome, moving so fast they could've been boats sailing along a smooth-running river. And there were people, too, but they looked like tiny ants from where Alba was, and she could barely make them out.

She marveled for a long time at the brilliance of it all, before Ludil reminded her that there were other pools and perhaps other cities like the one with the horseless carriages. And so she scrambled to her feet, carefully, for she couldn't imagine what would happen should she fall into one of the pools. Perhaps, she thought to herself, it was like the window. But, she was looking down on the city, and if the pools were like the window, then she would fall and fall, down into the smoke-filled city and not live another day. Alba shuddered at the unsavory thought.

The next pool showed a city not unlike Anvard, the capital of Archenland, but there was no hustle or bustle of people going about their business, no hawkers or vendors or carriages or horseless contraptions. There were no people, no horses or rats or cats in sight. There was no one at all.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. The citadel lookalike was far too quiet and it didn't sit well with her. She quickly moved to another pool.

This one was a desolate wasteland, so she went to the one beside it. She saw a city much like the first, yet it looked different in a way she couldn't describe, for she had never seen anything like them before and it was so very new and delightful in a fearsomely exhilarating way.

Alba soon exclaimed, after peering eagerly in every pool, though it seemed that the more pools she looked in, the more appeared, "Oh, Ludil! Which one should we choose?" There were dozens of pools now; Alba could've sworn she had only seen a mere half-dozen when she first came upon the clearing. It must be magic, she concluded resolutely and with much confidence, even though she knew little of real, honest magic.

"Choose? How about none at all!" said her feathered daemon. "We ought to seek your father. This place is filled with dangerous magic!"

"You only say it's dangerous because you don't know it," Alba countered with a curl of her lip.

"Rightly so!"

But Alba had already made up her mind. She had wished for an adventure such as this for as long as she could remember, and now an adventure was right in front of her in the shape of a pool with a mysterious city.

She secured her daemon in her satchel, his small beak peeking out from the gap between the fold, and tightened the strap. She traced her steps back to the first pool and perched at the edge.

"Hold your breath, Lu," she said. "We're going on an adventure."

And she leapt.

* * *

 **A/N This story takes elements from Phillip Pullman's trilogy, His Dark Materials, of which the first is most commonly known as "The Golden Compass." I found the idea of our souls walking beside us quite intriguing and thought it would be fun to incorporate it into the world of Narnia, which much of reflects Christian mythology. The Golden Compass book, similarly and interestingly, has major religious influences.  
**

 **In regards to the pools, or "wood between worlds," I have taken some creative liberty there. The books speak of special rings used to get from one place to another, made from some sort of magical dust. I might provide a possible explanation for Alba's ability to use the pools, as Pullman's trilogy involves what the protagonist calls "Dust." The people with daemons have lots of mysterious "Dust" surrounding them in the trilogy.**

 **This will be a sort of coming-of-age tale, with adventure and perhaps a sprinkle of young romance (the main characters are rather young). The Pevensies will be a tad older than in the books (more in line with the movies). This will take place before Prince Caspian and will primarily take place in the movies' universe (I'm in the process of reading the books, but it's going slow). I use the Narnia wikia as a major reference.**

 **Also, please note that the next few chapters will be very slow to come due to school, work, and other things that take up time.**

 **Lastly, my knowledge of London is limited, as I have yet to visit, so forgive any errors and do not hesitate to correct me. I appreciate any and all feedback. Cheers!  
**


	2. The city of smoke and stone

**CHAPTER TWO**

 **"The city of smoke and stone"**

The water was colder than she thought it would be. As soon as she broke the tranquil, glittering surface, the water turned dark and churned with a terrifying strength. The smoke-filled city had disappeared and in its place was a vast expanse of emptiness. She couldn't tell how deep the pool went—she didn't care to know. All that was on her mind was to find air. Poor Ludil, who was not built for plunging into icy waters, was fading quickly, and if Alba didn't reach the top soon, she would likely drown and her daemon would disappear forever.

She kicked her feet and cupped her fingers to pull herself through the water in the direction she thought was up. At last, after struggling for several long minutes, she felt a rush of icy air skim her head. She tilted her face upward to a daunting grey sky, gasping, her strength fading and a fatigue setting in, as she pulled Ludil free from her bag. While she struggled to stay afloat in the rolling waters, her daemon fluttered weakly around, resting occasionally on the top of her head before taking flight once more.

They were in a river with greenish-stone embankments on both sides and a massive bridge-like structure of metal and stone stretching across. There were boats, too, but few were made of wood. Alba gaped at the strangeness of the place into which she had emerged. The buildings were like the sky, dull and grey, and from many came thick billows of swirling black smoke that reminded her of the cruel, harsh cities of Telmar kingdom.

The respite only lastly briefly, for a cresting wave crashed into her and under the surface she went. Ludil flew above in a panic, swooping and circling. The waves kept pushing her down, again and again.

Suddenly, something gripped her shirt's collar and hauled her up, out of the water, and onto a slick, gritty deck. Alba rolled onto her side and coughed out spurts of river water, her eyes burning and her whole body quivering from both the cold air and sheer exhaustion.

"Oi girlie," said a nasally male voice, oddly accented, "what'choo doin' in the Thames?"

A squat yet burly man sneered down at her; he wore a dirty, buttoned shirt and shabby breeches, his face was smeared with soot and grime, and his bald head was the shiniest, cleanest thing about him. Alba guessed that the Thames was his world's name for the river he had pulled her from.

She took a shaky hand and wiped the snot from her nose, all the while making sure to keep an eye on the bald man. Ludil, after some silent reassurance that she was okay, glided to the railing of the boat and took everything in with his vigilant bird-eyes.

"I fell in," she told him as she sat up; her chest hurt and her limbs felt limp and useless.

The bald man scrunched up his face, his brow bones joining together—where his eyebrows would've been if he had any hair left, in any case. "What'choo fall in fer?" he asked.

"Well, I didn't do it on purpose!" she retorted hotly, feeling rightfully ashamed, for she truly had jumped into the pool and brought this upon herself.

The man straightened up, eyeing her whole person for the first time. She could tell from the wrinkles on his forehead that her outfit wasn't normal. He didn't comment, however, and instead, helped her to her feet. "We're makin' port down a ways," he told her. "Get off there, and in the meantime, stay outta our way." The bald boatman didn't wait for an answer, trudging away in thick boots of a queer supple material. She watched him pick up a matted ball of netting and drag it elsewhere.

It was then that Alba realized they were on a fishing boat. This was no normal fishing boat, for its surfaces were hardy and white, with tall posts connecting rope to every which way, and most importantly of all, there were neither sails nor paddles. It was like magic was pushing the boat forward. Several men of different sizes and colouring busied themselves around the boat, all wearing similar boots as the baldheaded man. Some even had on bright, shiny coats. How strange this world appeared!

Ludil coasted to his favourite spot on her shoulder; his little talons digging into her shoulder were a familiar comfort in all the newness. They gawked at the striking stone landscape and marveled at everything they could see along the embankments. The horseless carriages, she could see now, emitted the same black smoke as the buildings, and they were very shiny, almost like they were made of an opaque glass. But they shuddered and rumbled across cobblestone streets, and never once did they shatter or fracture. Was it the same magic driving the boat?

"They're magicians," she told Ludil breathlessly, "They've got to be. Oh, how jealous the others would be if they knew what we'd found!" At the moment, Alba and her daemon were too awe-struck and overwhelmed to wonder how they would tell the caravan children of their discoveries, or how they would return at all to the caravan.

They soon arrived at their destination, a rickety dock with a half dozen other little boats much like the one she was on. There were more beefy men who were carrying cases of pungent fish and loading them into a massive box attached to a horseless carriage. A crewman on the bald man's boat nearly knocked into Alba, and she quickly ducked out of the way. She and Ludil watched as the crew joined the other men on the dock with cases of their own.

The baldheaded man slogged over to her in his bendy black boots. "This 'ere is yer stop, missy," he announced. "Don't be fallin' in no more rivers."

Alba disembarked and made her way up to the carriage that the men were loading up with the cases of fish. She spent a good while ogling the machine, with its metal pipes, glass windows, and polished shell, until one of the disgruntled workmen shooed her off. She walked a little ways away, to the edge of the street, where more horseless carriages of different colours and shapes whizzed past. The people of this world scarcely spared her any attention, if only to glance at her sodden elk skin trousers. They wore thin, boxy coats and funny hats and carried leather cases. Alba gawked at the women's short skirts, which reached mid calf on most, but some of the younger girls sported skirts that barely hit their knees.

Ludil, who was still on her shoulder, tightened his grip and tittered nervously, "None of them have daemons, Alba. I don't like it—it's not right."

They were well used to their peculiarity, having passed through many Archenlander towns and Calormene settlements, but it never settled well with her to witness the daemonless. She knew that their souls were most likely on the inside. Nevertheless, it was still disconcerting.

"Stay close and out of sight," she told him. Her daemon huddled close to her neck and sought refuge in her damp brown locks.

She knew well enough to stay off of the road, so she followed the footpath that ran parallel to the river Thames. They spent much of the day, dreary as it was, exploring the streets of the city. She had been chased out of several skinny shops filled to the brim with oddities, three times for having a wild bird on her shoulder, and twice for being a gypsy child. The things she saw were strange and alarming and simply wonderful: a tiny cube could capture a moment in a second, large, bulky boxes showed moving people in black and white, and music played from more small boxes. One of the shopkeepers, with three chins and an enormous waistband, eyeing her with unconcealed derision, told her the apparatuses operated on _electricity_ , and then he shooed her out of his shop because of Ludil.

As the sun waned, hidden behind a thick swath of ominous clouds, Alba grew hungrier. None of the vendors would take her scant amount of Archenlander coins, though they did hum and ha over the foreign imprint. At the late hour, most were packing up their stores of fruits and vegetables before the sunlight disappeared altogether. It would be easy to swipe something off a cart; she'd done it plenty times with the other caravan children. Her stomach rumbled like a wildcat, spurring her towards the nearest cart. The cart was a rusted red with a shabby awning and a dwindled supply of apples. Her hand twitched and Ludil made a small noise of objection.

"Oh, please don't!" he fussed quietly, when he realized her intentions. "What'll they do if they catch us? We don't know what kind of folk they are…" he whispered.

"But I'm hungry, Lu— _we're_ hungry," she countered.

Ludil wasn't placated. "They'll cut off your hand!"

Alba rolled her eyes. Only the Calormene cut off thieving hands—surely this modern society with their electricity and horseless carriages were a civilized lot? She said as much to Ludil.

"I'd rather not find out," he replied tartly.

They did not get the chance to continue bickering, for in the next moment, an ear-piercing roar split through the gloomy skies and shook the glass windows of the tall brick buildings. Alba pressed the heels of her hands to her ears to block it out. They whipped their heads upwards and caught a glimpse of a massive contraption of dark metal flying through the clouds. It had a stretched oblong body, with wing-like attachments on either side, much like a bird's except the wings were stationary. The machine cut through the air with incredible speed, leaving Alba slack-jawed and Ludil aflutter.

They watched until it rose up amongst the clouds once more. Alba glanced around; it seemed like they were the only ones affected, save a couple young children playing outside of an electricity-box shop, now racing with their arms stuck out in rigid planks like they were the flying machine. It reminded her of the caravan children playing at war and other innocent games. She had often joined them, but then her daemon had settled.

Ludil landed once again on her shoulder and then murmured something that sent a chill down her spine. "There's someone watching us."

Alba remained where she was, but now she was pretending to observe the city kids. "Where? What do they look like?" she tried to move her lips as little as possible—she was quite good at it.

Ludil shifted from one bird foot to the other. "Behind us, to the left," he said. "A man with a funny hat. He's very fat."

Alba started walking at a brisk pace in the opposite direction of the man, without casting a glance behind. She caught a glimpse of him, however, when she turned a corner and saw a portly man in a crisp blue outfit reflected in a shop window. She swiftly sought refuge in a shadowy, narrow alley and hid behind a large metal bin reeking of rubbish. They waited until he passed. As soon as the man's shiny black shoes disappeared, Alba took a deep breath to calm her nerves and immediately regretted it when the scent of rotting food and something burning stung her nose.

"Why do you think he's following us?" asked Ludil, his voice strained.

Alba sat back from peering around the rubbish bin. "I don't know. There are a couple folk wearing what he's got on." Her stomach rumbled again, quite loudly this time; she thought hard for a moment. "Maybe he's this place's version of a sheriff. He thinks we're thieves."

"No, oh no," Ludil quivered. "We'll definitely get our hands chopped off now."

Alba rolled her eyes—they hadn't stolen anything _yet_ —and straightened up. "Hush, Lu." There was a queer sensation roiling in her chest. "We need to get out of here before that man comes back."

She had made up her mind; once they were far enough from the lawman, Alba would swipe something from one of the vendor carts or shops that still had their stores laid out. It was dark, but there were tall lights that burned brightly along the streets. She knew it would be difficult to remain inconspicuous, especially with her elk skin clothes—how different they were from this world's common garb. They wandered down the street, this time with more purpose, and Alba noted with some apprehension that fewer of the magician-folk were out and about as the night wore on.

They soon came upon a little shop with a dwindling supply of vegetables and fruits. When the shopkeeper was nowhere in sight and a small pocket of people congested the pathway, Alba took the chance and lifted a yellow pear, slipping it discreetly into her satchel. All the while, Ludil trembled beneath her hair. She sped away, expecting someone to come shouting, but they never did.

They found a secluded bench in a quaint garden with lots of trees and a fountain, and sat down to happily munch on the pear. It wasn't as sweet as she was hoping, but it filled them both for the time being. Nowhere near as ravenous, Alba let her eyes wander over the lowly lit garden; there were several dozen flowers she couldn't recognize. The fountain was in the shape of a little baby holding an arrow, and from the tip of the arrow spouted a stream of clear water. She hopped up, disturbing Ludil's rest, and cupped her hands under the cold stream, taking large gulps.

Satiated, she settled back down to sleep. The bench was made of hard wood and it was far from comfortable, but her feet ached and her mind was fuzzy with exhaustion. It didn't take long for her to drift off.

 **XxxxXXxxxX**

Alba woke to a snuffling, a wet nose, and very bad doggy breath.

Ludil had flown up as far as he could go in a kerfuffle of ruffled feathers and pitchy squawks. The creature in front of her, with his face resting at the edge of the bench and his cottony tail wagging zealously, was a tremendously shaggy one. The beast was the size of a pony and it looked like a small bear, with floppy ears and a curly golden coat. A large, rosy tongue hung lopsidedly as the dog-bear panted, and the next thing Alba knew, it was giving her big, sloppy dog kisses. She squealed and buried her face in her hands to escape the slobbery attack. Ludil cried out in panic.

A whistled sounded from beyond the garden, followed by a man's voice. "Samson, here boy!" came the voice, and it was getting closer by the second. Alba scrambled up and away from the dog-bear and his slobbery muzzle. The man found her a half a moment later, precariously perched on the back of the bench, fending off the dog, who now had his enormous front paws on the bench seat. Ludil seemed to have gathered his wits about him, for as soon as the man appeared, the bird made large, swooping lunges at the giant dog-bear. He managed three before the dog tried to catch him and he had to stay high up or risk getting caught in those sharp, pearly-white dagger-like teeth.

The man was greatly alarmed at the scene he had come upon, and he immediately called off his dog-bear. The man was white-bearded, with a sensible face craggy with age lines and wiry, bushy eyebrows—from which Alba could scarcely tear her eyes, for she was enraptured with a bizarre fascination at how much they moved up and down as he talked.

"—Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked and Alba was startled out of her revere.

"That's none of your business," she replied tightly.

The old magician man narrowed his eyes; his dog gave a lively bark from its now seated position by the man. Alba eyed both the man and the dog: back and forth, back and forth. Perhaps the dog was like Ludil?

"Is that your daemon?" she asked suddenly, before she could stop herself.

"My what?" the man countered with mild befuddlement. Alba kept her mouth shut and glared at the man. He was just one of the magicians, and his dog was merely a Dumb animal that couldn't talk or think much for himself.

"I don't know what you mean, gypsy child, but this is private property and you are trespassing," he told her disdainfully. "Take your things and be on your way, now. I don't want any trouble with your kind."

Alba was livid. "I'm not a stupid gypsy! You're all on about this gypsy nonsense, and I don't understand any of it. I'm Pulaimen, not a gypsy, _sir_. I'll be on my way for sure!" She snatched her satchel from the bench and made for the gate, which she had not seen in the darkness of the night before. "Come on, Ludil. Let's get out of this world! All these stupid magicians…"

"Now, hold on there!" exclaimed the old man. "I am an esteemed member of the Royal Geographical Society of London! I am not some _magician_ —I am a man of science and logic." He said it so pompously, so proudly, Alba nearly scoffed in his face. He was a magician, just like the rest of them. Ludil drifted down to her shoulder and hid in her matted hair, sending comforting, reassuring thoughts her way.

"If you're a man of science and logic, then how do the horseless carriages move if not by magic?" she asked boldly, for she knew she ought to run as quick as she could away from the man and his dog, but curiosity was getting the best of her.

The old man was once again confused, his viciously thick eyebrows knitting together into one long carpet. "Horseless carriages?" he asked. "Oh, do you mean the automobiles? Well, they use engines to run, of course. And petrol. Lots of bits and pieces that make the whole, you understand," he told her.

Alba didn't know what petrol was, nor did she know how an engine could make a horseless carriage move so fast. "And the lights? The boats? What about the boxes with the small magicians inside?" She was still apprehensive of the man, but this could be her only chance to get more information about the world of smoke and stone. Oh, the tales she would tell to the caravan children! More importantly, the things she could tell her father and mother!

"Have you never heard of a television?" The man was incredulous at this point, his initial disgruntlement seemingly forgotten, for there was an uneducated child in front of him and it was his duty to educate her. After plenty of hesitation, and only after another abrupt _woof_ from the dog-bear, did the man bid her to follow him for some much needed tea and biscuits. Alba lingered a respectable distance as the old man led the way into a tall, faded white house with dozens of windows and thick sheets of ivy crawling along the stone blocks.

"Call me Mr. Sutcliffe, by the way," he told her as he entered the house through an open glass door. Alba marveled at the vast amounts of glass that everything was made out of—was it no so delicate and breakable? Were these magicians the richest of their kind to afford such luxuries?

Alba stood awkwardly while the old man, Mr. Sutcliffe, shuffled around in what she assumed was the kitchen. There was a sink with a tap, a massive humming white box, and lots of cabinets and counter space. He grabbed a kettle and set it on the modern-looking stove; he turned a dial, flicked a match, and a miniature fire roared to life on it. Ludil mumbled something about magicians; he was still wary of the old man.

"Have a seat, dear child," Mr. Sutcliffe said, gesturing to a small wooden dining set nestled in a nook of windows that faced the garden from which they had just come. "What's your name, then? Do you have one?"

"'Course I got one," said Alba. The wooden chair was well worn and unusually comfortable. "It's Alba."

"And your little friend?"

Alba gazed at him wide-eyed and didn't speak.

Mr. Sutcliffe gave her a knowing glance. "Yes, Alba. I saw your bird friend. She's quite tame when she wants to be," he added.

"He," Alba corrected. "His name's Ludil."

The old man sat down as well, setting a plate of odd-looking biscuits down in front of her. "Try one, they're ginger snaps. My housekeeper, Mrs. Parsons, baked them yesterday afternoon."

Alba took one tentatively and was delighted when she found them to be soft and chewy. Mr. Sutcliffe regarded her with a patient, astute eye, though she was no longer as apprehensive as she first was. Mr. Sutcliffe seemed to be a sort of scholar; there were dozens of worn books lining shelves along the wall, and just as many balanced together as precarious towers on nearly every table, save for the one at which they were currently sitting.

"Pray tell, my child," began Mr. Sutcliffe, as he slid the plate of cookies closer to Alba, "what were you doing in my garden?"

Alba shrugged. "Sleeping, I guess," she said around a mouthful of cookie. She reluctantly added, "And hiding."

"From whom?"

Another shrug. "Some man in a blue outfit and a silly hat. He was very fat."

Mr. Sutcliffe frowned, his heavy brows once again resembling a bushy caterpillar. Alba wondered if they were as prickly and bushy to the touch as they appeared. "Do you-do you have any parents, Alba?"

"Sure I do. Everyone's got parents," she replied.

"And where are yours?" asked Mr. Sutcliffe.

Alba paused mid-bite, the half-eaten ginger snap hovering in the air. This Mr. Sutcliffe was asking a lot of questions. She had to choose her answers very carefully, especially because she did not know the old man's real intentions. He could be in cahoots with the man in the blue suit, for all she knew. They were daemon-less, and the daemon-less were often skilled at hiding their true feelings.

"They're busy. I went off exploring." It wasn't a lie.

"Are you lost?"

Alba didn't reply and only peeked briefly at him. Mr. Sutcliffe was far from satisfied, which was evident from the way he pursed his lips and squinted.

He sighed and tried again. This went on for some time, with Mr. Sutcliffe asking his questions and Alba giving him tediously evasive answers. The only information he gleaned—or rather what Alba allowed him to know—was that her parents worked as important people wherever she was from, and her home was far away. He asked her how she arrived in London, which she supposed was the name for the city. Her reply rather confused him. "By the water. It was very cold. And the boat magician wasn't very polite when he pulled me out." So, after nearly a half hour, Mr. Sutcliffe excused himself and went into the hallway. He was almost out of sight, but Alba saw him pick up a shiny curved device with two cylinders on either end. He held it up to his ear and spoke into it. He glanced at her and she quickly looked away. Alba had a feeling that whatever he was doing wasn't good.

The next time Mr. Sutcliffe looked her way she was already gone.

The streets of London city were as busy as they were the day before, with just as many oddities and wonderful things, but this time, Alba and Ludil didn't stop to marvel at them. They sped as fast as possible, and as far away as they could from Mr. Sutcliffe's hundred-windowed house.

Alba decided that their adventure ought to come to an end.

 **XxxxXXxxxX**

Mr. Sutcliffe considered himself a well-respected, intellectual man of some wealthy stature. He prided himself upon his knowledge and his high standing as an esteemed member of the Royal Geographical Society of London, though the Society had temporarily ceased activities as a result of the War. Mr. Sutcliffe was much too old to be of much use as a soldier, so he contented himself with scholarly positions at universities and other educational institutions where he knew he could make a difference, however marginal.

The girl appeared one chilly morning, clad in the funniest of clothes and saying off-kilter things. Mr. Sutcliffe assumed she was but an orphaned ruffian or gypsy child because of her dirty garb and much too skinny build for her height. She had tangled brown hair, a perpetually haughty expression, and a tame tufted titmouse that seemed to follow her around everywhere she went. And then what she knew—or rather, what she _didn't_ know, was astounding! He thought then, that she must come from sort of cult or primitive society that had somehow found its way into the heart of London.

When he made no headway in his questioning, he decided to give his good friend a call, a Dr. Timothy of the Imperial College of London, to seek counsel on the matter residing at his kitchen table and munching on Mrs. Parsons' ginger snap cookies. The call was his first mistake, as he should have waited for Mrs. Parsons to arrive and watch over the girl while he figured out what to do. He made sure to regularly check on her, though his view was partially obscured in the hallway where the telephone was. Between one of his checks, she had vanished. Mr. Sutcliffe had to admit that she was a sly, slippery child.

He immediately bade his friend Dr. Timothy a quick farewell with an exclamation that the girl in question had disappeared and that he felt it was his duty to help this uneducated, uncultured child. Dr. Timothy, being a rational, levelheaded man, advised Mr. Sutcliffe to call the police for assistance. But time was ticking and the girl, Alba, was most likely getting farther away by the minute; he couldn't waste a second more. Mr. Sutcliffe figured he could stop a passing officer on his search. Next, while grabbing his coat, he wracked his brain for clues to the girl's whereabouts. She had mentioned something about boats and magicians, so she must have wandered into the city via the Thames. It was a weak guess; he had nothing else to go off of.

After he was properly bundled up, with a woolen scarf wrapped thrice around his neck and a knitted cap on his thinning hair, Mr. Sutcliffe ventured out to his trusty automobile. He drove off as quickly as possible in the direction of the river, all the while keeping an eye out for a girl with brown hair, in a white shirt and tan trousers.

* * *

 **A/N: Once again, my knowledge of London, specifically 1940s is limited, so please forgive any mistakes. In regards to age, Alba is in her early teens. This fic will stretch over a year or so, though I intend to soon make a time leap forward. Alba will be meeting the Pevensies in due time (the next chapter), and there will be a young romance, as I mentioned before.  
**

 **Some of you may have noticed the use of _Pulaimen_ or _Pulaiman_. This is a name I invented as a nod to author Philip Pullman, as I am taking elements from his trilogy, _His Dark Materials_. Alba and her people come from the world Pul and arrived after the Golden Era following the Pevensies' return to their own world (which is where Alba is now). **


	3. The boy king

**CHAPTER THREE  
"The boy king"**

The heavy reality of her circumstances had finally come crashing down. An ardent desperation driven by the yearning to return home had taken hold and not even Ludil could break her out of it. Ludil flew behind her as fast as his little bird wings could carry him, for Alba was unwavering in her resolve to return to the river from where she had come. It was logical enough: if she had arrived in the river, then she could return through it.

The pungent stench of fish, oil, smoke and river waste struck her quite suddenly. They caught a glimpse of the magic boats drifting along the dark, rippling waters. They blinked in and out of sight as horseless carriages whizzed across the road running parallel to the river.

She was nearly upon the intersection when someone swiftly grabbed her hand and yanked her away from the road. Her whole body jerked unpleasantly, and she collided into the one who grabbed her.

"Watch where you're going – you could get hit, you know!" cried a lanky boy with blonde hair. Alba ignored him and wrenched her arm from his grasp with a feral snarl. She darted across the intersection, weaving through honking carriages and angry drivers, until she lurched against the cold iron railing that bordered the river. Looking over the edge, there were docks and daemon-less magicians unloading and loading their wares onto boats. She would need to get into the thick of the river Thames, for that was where she surfaced upon her arrival. It was only logical.

Alba lifted her gaze from the docks and immediately saw the vast bridge, with its countless arches and embellished stonework, stretching the width of the river. She thought she heard a distant shout as she took off again, but instantly dismissed it. Her lungs burned, and her eyes watered from the reeking city, but she was resolved to return home as soon as possible, even if it meant jumping into the frigid, churning waters that stunk of rotten fish and oil.

She ran to the center of the bridge, dodging the city folk as she did so. Ludil by then had wrestled his way into the safety of her elk skin satchel; amidst the coveted little treasures she had picked up on her adventures. He knew exactly what she planned to do, and even though he was unbearably frightened of what would happen to them, he kept quiet and let Alba decide for the both of them.

Alba paused to catch her breath and to secure her satchel across her chest once more. She made sure her daemon was safe before she approached the ornate balustrade and rested her forehead against the rough stone. Three, long breaths were all it took for her to steel her battering heart.

With both hands, she hefted herself up on the balustrade, grabbing a nearby lamppost to steady her uneasy legs. A chorus of voices rose up around her as several daemon-less uttered their alarm. She didn't give them the chance to stop her.

Alba had never fallen from so far up before; it was an exhilarating, terrifying, peculiar sensation as she cut through the air and the wind howled in her ears and her limbs grappled for something to hold onto. And all too soon, the water rushed up to meet her and she painfully plunged feet-first into the murky depths. She swam down after her initial shock, but she could hardly see anything in the dimness. Soon, she felt the pressure of the water grow in intensity, and the thought that perhaps she had been too hasty in her decision entered her mind. Could it be that the pools do not work the same way? What if you could go in, but you couldn't come out?

Panic seized her heart and spread a fast-growing terror to every part of her body when she realized that she was sinking and getting farther and farther away from the air. Images of what Ludil saw flashed in her mind as they sought each other's security; one moment, Alba was thrashing in the muddy waters, and the next she was drowning in a small dark space and surrounded by her floating treasures. She blinked again, and she was back in her own mind, though Ludil's petrified presence was like a headache that addled her ability to think straight.

There was a distant splash, like the sound of someone breaking through the water's surface, wherever that was. Alba was too busy holding her breath and fighting against the familiar but just as frightening fatigue that was slowly creeping up on her. The urge to close her eyes and just _let go_ was becoming awfully strong.

Suddenly, a slim, strong arm wrapped around her waist and Alba felt herself being pulled against a body and tugged upward. They reached the surface quicker than she thought they would – her mind so starved for air that everything was flickering in and out and she felt like her body wasn't hers anymore.

On her first gasp, she inhaled river water; so, she spluttered and choked, focusing all of her energy on breathing while letting whoever had come for her hold them afloat. Ludil had wriggled free of her satchel this time, and found some sort of white, buoyant plank that was crumbling away in little flakes on which to rest.

The boy – it was a boy, she knew, because of the shape of his body against hers and when he spoke – he coughed for a moment as well, and then immediately set to reprimanding her. "Why would you do that? As-God save us – you're an absolute idiot!" he exclaimed.

Alba's throat was scratchy and sore, and she was nearly spent, but she found it in her to feel quite affronted at the boy's words. "Why don't you just leave me here, then? Save you the trouble and all," she retorted between coughs.

"Right, like I'm going to do that," the boy muttered as he began towing them to shore. "Stop fidgeting – it'll only take longer to get to the docks and I'm tired enough as it is," he told her through short pants, his breath tickling her ear and his arm still wrapped around her waist.

Alba clenched her teeth, both from the cold and the sheer frenzy of emotions swirling like a typhoon within her. Did this mean she could never return? She had been gone for an entire day now – her father must be so worried! And what would her mother think when she returned to the caravan, only to find Alba gone without a trace? Alba wanted to cry, to sob until she felt utterly nothing, but she couldn't – not in front of the boy. It would be humiliating, especially after she had gone and thrown herself off of the bridge. What he must think of her!

A small crowd had gathered around the lower and upper parts of the docks, the daemon-less all trying to get a look at them, though none of them seemed to be making any effort to help. The blonde boy had stopped grumbling to focus on keeping them both above the surface as he pulled them to the closest dock. Alba tried to help by kicking her feet every now and then, but she was weak, and the attempts were ultimately useless. So, she resigned herself to the shame and wretched feelings, wanting nothing more than to find herself in her parents' warm, safe embraces where nothing in the world could hurt her or make her feel the way she did back in the water.

A broad-shouldered man with a heavy, patched raincoat helped them onto the docks, easily plucking Alba from the water and then grabbing the blonde boy's arm to help him as well. Not for the first time since she had been in the city of smoke and stone, Alba found herself drenched and trembling. As soon as she was safe on the dock, Ludil flew to her and she held him tightly to her chest, letting out a few sobs of relief as she took comfort in their closeness. She despised the painful feeling of being stretched thin when she was too far from her daemon.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she crooned into her daemon's little bird ears. "Never again, okay? Never – I promise."

Meanwhile, the boy was also catching his breath, so Alba was able to get a good look at him. It was the same boy who had stopped her from crossing into traffic mere minutes before her jump. He had a roundish face and bright, expressive eyes – which were currently glaring at her.

"What happened 'ere?" said the man who had pulled them onto the dock. He had removed his coat and dropped it around Alba's shoulders.

The boy leveled a penetrating look at Alba, holding her gaze for several long beats, before turning to the man and saying, "We were playing, and she fell."

Alba shrunk back, using the man's coat to hide her from the boy's intensity. She didn't know why he would bother covering for her.

By then, the crowd that had gathered was slowly dispersing. A man in one of the common blue uniforms made his way through the on-lookers and they parted immediately to let him through. Behind him was Mr. Sutcliffe, much to her dismay. He looked harried, with his mismatched shoes and his hair sticking straight up in the wind.

"I've been so worried!" Mr. Sutcliffe said when he and the officer reached the end of the dock where Alba and the boy were still recovering. "Why are you all wet? Don't tell me you – you –"

"This boy 'ere said they was playin' on the bridge and she tumbled over," supplied their burly helper. "He jumped in right after 'er from what I could tell." The man shrugged and scratched his head with his grimy nails.

The officer took this opportunity to speak. "Are either of you hurt?" he asked.

The blonde boy stood up and straightened out his clothes. "No, we're fine," he replied.

Looking at Alba, the officer said, "And you, girl?"

Alba shook her ahead; she couldn't find the words to say anything at all. She was dumbfounded that Mr. Sutcliffe, who had known her for all of an hour, had bothered to come after her.

Suddenly, a boy with dark hair, younger than the one who had saved her, shoved through the loitering daemon-less and called out to Alba's rescuer.

"Peter!" he cried as he descended the stairs to the docks. Two girls, one younger and one much older, dressed in matching skirts and jackets, quickly followed him.

The blonde boy gave them a curt wave. He looked at the officer and said, "Excuse me, sir, but my siblings are waiting for me." And to the broad-shouldered man who had helped them he said, almost regally, "Thank you for your assistance." He never spared Alba a glance before he made his way to his brother and sisters.

Alba watched the youngest girl launch herself around his waist, hugging him tightly, while the eldest checked him for injuries. He brushed aside her fretting hands and trudged ahead to the stairs that were carved into the stone retention wall. The brother, who was a contrast to the rest of his siblings, eyed Alba fleetingly with his dark eyes before he too turned away and followed his family.

Mr. Sutcliffe exhales. "Why, I didn't get the chance to thank that boy," he mused. Then he bent down and offered a kindly hand to Alba. She realized that she had not thanked her rescuer, either. "Come along, child, let's go get you warmed up. Mrs. Parsons will be at the house by now. She'll be happy to make you some tea and a hot meal," he told her.

Hesitantly, Alba took Mr. Sutcliffe's hand and he pulled her upright. Mr. Sutcliffe had a few words with the officer, who left them after a few minutes, and then he thanked the burly man and returned the raincoat from Alba's shoulders. She immediately missed the coat's warmth as soon as it left her body. Ludil chirped pitifully from her arms as she cradled him to her chest.

Mr. Sutcliffe walked them back to the road where his car was pulled haphazardly onto the sidewalk, one front wheel on the walkway and the other on the road. He opened the door and Alba slid onto the black leather row right behind the driver's seat so that Mr. Sutcliffe wouldn't be able to see her very well. As they drove off, half of Alba's brained marveled at the speed and smoothness of the horseless carriage's movement while the other half was utterly numb.

 **XxxxXXxxxX**

Mrs. Parsons reminded Alba of a mother hen with the speed of a hummingbird. As soon as Mr. Sutcliffe and Alba returned to the hundred-windowed house, the housekeeper was upon her with cozy blankets and a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. She was a tenderly plump woman of sixty, with snow-white hair and ruddy cheeks. She wore a polka dot apron on top of a bright, floral dress that reached just above her ankles, where shiny black shoes peeked out. Alba felt immediately safe under Mrs. Parsons' kindly fretting.

Mr. Sutcliffe stayed out of the way while his housekeeper took care of Alba, retiring to his office with a plate of biscuits and a steaming cup of mint tea. Mrs. Parsons didn't seem to notice his disappearance, for she was entirely focused on making sure Alba didn't catch a cold from her dip in the river. She procured some boy's clothes that were slightly too big on Alba – they were Mr. Sutcliffe's grand-nephew's old school uniform – but they fit comfortably enough, if a little stiff and musty from being stored in a dresser. The khaki trousers pooled at her ankles, the sleeves of the white shirt covered her hands, and the jumper was a warm grey wool with the school's emblem embroidered above the left breast. Mrs. Parsons clucked at the uniform's fit and said they would have to go shopping for new clothes. Alba let her flutter about because she still in shock and had been since the blonde boy pulled her from the water.

It took Mrs. Parsons a quarter of an hour before she noticed Ludil. The daemon had nestled into one of Alba's pockets, resting his fragile little body, so that there was a noticeable lump in the trouser pocket.

"What's that you've got in your pocket, dearie?" asked the housekeeper as she set down two cups of tea.

Alba almost told her that it was none of her business, like she had done with Mr. Sutcliffe, but something in her wanted to respect the lady who had been so nice to her. "It's Ludil. He's my d-my friend," she told Mrs. Parsons.

"Oh?" replied the housekeeper, eyebrows raised with a gentle curiosity. "May I…see him?" she asked tentatively.

Alba dithered. She didn't like to show Ludil to the daemon-less, however, if she pretended that Ludil was just a well-trained bird they would be none-the-wiser.

"Okay," she agreed. Softly prodding the tiny bump, Alba eventually coaxed him out, telling him in her mind to say nothing, for fear of whatever Mrs. Parsons might do if she saw a talking bird. Ludil was well versed in playing a Dumb animal, though he was far from happy doing it.

The tufted titmouse untucked his short wings, stretching them as far as they could go from his round body before hopping up onto the kitchen table and eyeing a surprised Mrs. Parsons.

"Oh my," she gasped. "What a sweet darling." She reached out a wrinkly hand to pet him, but Ludil quickly darted to Alba's shoulder.

"He doesn't like others touching him," Alba said. It had happened a few times where someone had touched her daemon. The caravan children would play and sometimes it would happen on accident, but nevertheless it was a sickening, repulsive feeling that would course through them when a stray hand brushed the skin of a daemon.

Mrs. Parsons did not press her for information like Mr. Sutcliffe had. Instead, she rambled on about little things that were on her mind, but Alba found nonetheless riveting. She was after all gaining knowledge of this world to tell her parents once she figured out how to return to Narnia.

"Mr. Sutcliffe lectures at the boys' schools on occasion," Mrs. Parsons was saying, "He's retired now, you see, though he still enjoys teaching. The Geographic Society took up much of his time before the War, but now they've put a hold on activities. There's not much else for an old man like him to contribute, so teaching it is." That last part was said with a wink and an impish grin that made Alba giggle despite herself.

"Ask her about the flying things," Ludil whispered in her ear.

Alba reached for another cookie as she asked Mrs. Parsons about the massive machines they had seen in the sky.

"Why my dear, those are airplanes!" exclaimed the housekeeper. "There's a lot of physics to it, to keep them aloft. I'm sure Mr. Sutcliffe would explain the science behind it if you asked him." Alba received a similar answer when she asked about the horseless carriages – _automobiles_ , as Mr. Sutcliffe had said.

It was a short time later when there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Parsons made to answer it, but Mr. Sutcliffe opened his office door and said that he would get it. Alba peered into the hall from her spot at the table and saw Mr. Sutcliffe invite a uniformed officer into the house. Alba watched as Mr. Sutcliffe and the officer went into the study and shut the door behind them.

While Mrs. Parsons was busy preparing another batch of tea for the new guest, Alba quietly snuck over to the office door and pressed her ear against seam. The men were talking in low voices, and Alba could only catch a snippet of their conversation before Mrs. Parsons caught her and shooed her back to the kitchen.

Alba sunk down low in the chair, her appetite gone. The men had been discussing an orphanage.

 **XxxxXXxxxX**

At daybreak, a woman came for Alba.

Her name was Ms. Shaw. She was dressed in a crisp dress that was all straight, starched lines with a pair of matching thin heels. Her grey-streaked hair was pulled taught in a bun at the nape of her neck and a pair of oval glasses hung from a chain around her collar. She was stern and spoke very little. If she ever had a daemon, it would be a stick-bug, the kind that barely moved and were stiff as a rod.

Ms. Shaw led her to a sleek _automobile_ and they rode in silence for most of the way. Alba's head hung low. Even though Mr. Sutcliffe and Mrs. Parsons had no obligation to her, she felt the sting of rejection. From the corner of her eye, the hundred-windowed house became smaller and smaller until it completely disappeared from view as the carriage turned a corner.

A quarter of an hour had passed when Ms. Shaw spoke, her voice just as sharp as her suit "You'll be expected to adhere to the rules of the house. Sister Florence will show you how things work there."

Alba didn't want to meet this Sister Florence. She wanted to go home, feel the warmth of her mother's hugs and hear the gruff voice of her father.

"It is good Mr. Sutcliffe called," mused Ms. Shaw, though it seemed she was speaking more to herself than to Alba. "It is not safe these days for a child to be out. The Sisters take good care of the orphans placed there."

Alba uttered her first words in nearly a day. "I'm not an orphan."

Ms. Shaw gave her a sidelong glance with her bird-like eyes behind thick lenses. She returned her gaze to the front of the carriage, keeping silent. Alba wanted to shout and scream at her: _my parents are alive!_ _They're alive and they're looking for me and you're locking me up! I need to be out, looking for ways to return to them. Why won't you listen?_

The orphanage was unmarked, as if it was makeshift, quickly put together. Alba found out later, from one of the children, that the original orphanage was, at the moment, under a pile of rubble. Like the rest of the buildings, the orphanage seemed to blend in, a part of one unending row of grey stone exteriors and boarded-up windows. The street was eerily quiet; few carriages rumbled past, no metal birds tore through the sky, no children were playing.

Ms. Shaw marched her charge up the brief set of stairs, with her heels scraping against the stone steps and her hand hovering on Alba's shoulder as if she might bolt at any moment. Ms. Shaw pushed open the front door and ushered Alba through it, leading her into a musty foyer with a tall ceiling. There was a spiraling staircase that went up three or four floors and was coated with a dingy red-velvet rug. Several corridors branched off into different directions, one carrying the scent of baking bread and the sound of distant chatter. Alba naturally gravitated toward the corridor, her stomach hankering for food, but Ms. Shaw grabbed her shoulder and steered her in the opposite direction.

"You may have breakfast after we meet with Sister Florence," Ms. Shaw told her. Alba winced when the woman's talon-like nails dug into her shoulder bone.

The corridor was dim and smelt of something gone stale. Suspended bits of dust cast a thick haze where light filtered through the cracks of boarded-up windows. Alba counted a total of seven doors, three on either side and one at the end of the hall. They halted only halfway down the corridor in front of a door that was partly ajar. Ms. Shaw raised a bony fist and rapped sharply on it.

"Yes?" came a woman's voice, soft and musical-like. Ms. Shaw pushed open the door and ushered Alba into the room.

They had entered a tidy office with hardly anything inside except a desk, three chairs, a few cabinets, and several neat stacks of bright pieces of paper. At the desk sat a portly woman dressed in black robes safe for the white fabric tightly fitted around her face. There was a sheath of black material that covered her head like some sort of veil. She smiled kindly when she saw Alba, her eyes warm and her cheeks rosy like a cherub's.

"Ah, Ms. Shaw!" exclaimed the lady in black. "I see you've brought our newest addition, and just in time for breakfast. Have a seat, my dear, and we'll get you settled as soon as possible."

Alba did not move, for she was too busy studying the oddly robed woman in front of her. Ludil shifted uneasily within the confines of Alba's bag.

The woman's smile never wavered. "It is quite all right, dear," she said. "Come, sit," she repeated, gesturing to the chairs. Ms. Shaw gave Alba a light push.

"Wonderful," said the lady in black as soon as Alba had taken her place in one of the stiff chairs. "You may call me Sister Florence. What may I call you?" she asked.

Alba debated whether or not to answer, but when her stomach growled, she decided that the sooner she complied, the quicker she could get eat. Through clenched teeth, she replied, "Alba."

Sister Florence's expression relaxed marginally. "Do you have a surname, Alba?"

"Yes."

"Yes, _Sister Florence_ ," Ms. Shaw snappishly interjected. Alba sent her a scathing look, lips curled, and eyes narrowed. She never liked it when adults corrected her.

"Thank you, Ms. Shaw," Sister Florence cleared her throat. "Would you mind finding Sister Percy and have her prepare Alba's bed?"

Ms. Shaw pursed her lips for a moment before assenting. "Very well."

As soon as the sharp-faced woman left, Alba let the tenseness in her body slacken. Ms. Shaw was much too austere for her liking. She tried much too hard to exercise authority where she had none.

Sister Florence sent her a gentle smile. "Now, Alba–"

"Why do they call you sister? You don't look at all alike," Alba interrupted. She listened attentively as Sister Florence, not in the least bit annoyed at the disruption, explained that she was a _nun_ and served God. A wave of understanding washed over Alba. They had places like this for orphans in Archenland as well, run by devout folk who liked to do good things for others.

So, she asked another question after Sister Florence had finished telling her why they used _sister_. "Is your god's name Aslan?"

The question seemed to unsettle Sister Florence, whose brows knitted together, and head tilted to the side. "Aslan? No, it is not. Is that what you believe it to be?"

Alba shook her head violently. "No, just wondering," she said quickly, "just heard someone say it and I thought…" she trailed off, hoping Sister Florence would overlook her blunder. She couldn't let the nun in on her secret.

"Oh, very well then," Sister Florence nodded, clasping her plump fingers together. "Let's get your file in order. What did you say your surname was?"

Sister Florence kept Alba for another quarter of an hour, asking her about her birthday, her parents, and her home life. The nun never once lost patience with her, despite Alba's increasingly vague answers. But what could Alba say? She couldn't reveal that she was from another world entirely, that she had come through a small window on the shores of Narnia country. Alba knew well enough that people did not take well to those different than them, not in any world.

 **XxxxXXxxxX**

The orphan children mocked the way she spoke. They thought her accent was funny – which they told her as soon as Sister Florence left.

The dining hall was moderately sized, with three long tables filled with scrawny children all dressed in hues of grey and mottled green. The tinkling of silverware echoed around her and from the kitchen came the sounds of clanking pots and pans and dishes. There was one grumpy-looking nun patrolling the hall, whom the children called Sister Percy.

One small boy sitting across from her, who reminded Alba very much of little Tam, spoke up amidst the cacophony of chatter. "Where are you from?" he asked, scratching at the mop of shaggy brown hair on his head.

Alba glanced at the orphans around them and leaned closer to the boy. "Far, far away from here," she told him.

The boy's eyes lit up like the electric lampposts that lined the streets. "Are you-are you a spy?" he asked, this time his voice was barely above a whisper.

" _No_ , I'm not a spy," Alba was not sure if she ought to be offended with the way he said the word, or that he suspected her of espionage at all. "I came here on accident, and now I can't find my way back."

The little boy cocked his head. "Why would you do that?"

Alba almost went cross-eyed. "It's not like I meant to do it!" she nearly screeched, earning more than a few curious glances from children still remaining in the dining hall. She quickly ducked her head and concentrated on scooping up a spoonful of the watery, grey-tinged porridge Sister Percy had given her.

When the other orphans lost interest and the din in the hall had risen once more to its former roar, Alba recaptured the boy's attention.

"What's your name?" she asked him.

"Call me Alfie," the boy replied, his mouth full of porridge. "What's yours?"

"Alba," she said.

Alfie grinned. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Alba!"

Alba could not help but smile as well. This boy was her ticket out of there. If she could learn as much as possible from him, perhaps she could escape the city of smoke and stone for good.

"Likewise."

 **XxxxXXxxxX**

Back at the hundred-windowed house, Mr. Sutcliffe was feeling somewhat poorly. Mrs. Parsons had been baking up a storm for the past week without stop, and the entire first floor perpetually smelt of biscuits and scones. It was getting ridiculous; Mr. Sutcliffe could only let out the waistline on his trousers so much before he would have to buy a whole new pair – not to mention how outrageously high the electricity bill was becoming!

Finally, after he had burst through the button on his favourite pair of khakis one morning, Mr. Sutcliffe had had enough.

Tossing that morning's paper to his desk and letting out a thunderous, " _Mrs. Parsons!_ ", he set out to confront his housekeeper. She was in the kitchen wearing a flour-covered apron, vigorously kneading a loaf of dough and muttering unintelligible things under her breath. She had not heard him, evidently.

"Mrs. Parsons," he tried again, this time in a much calmer manner. His housekeeper kept right on with her mumbling. " _Mrs. Parsons_ , have you gone hard of hearing?" Mr. Sutcliffe exclaimed at last.

"Oh my," the old woman jumped, her hand fluttering over her chest. "Mr. Sutcliffe, you've startled me," she replied.

Mr. Sutcliffe heaved a sigh at the sight of the messy kitchen. Dirty mixing bowls were piled in the sink and used muffin trays were scattered across the counters. Dozens upon dozens of baked goods covered every surface; Mr. Sutcliffe spied a few apple pies and even a crème brûlée.

"Mrs. Parsons, I have been calling for you for several minutes now," he told her. "What has gotten into you?"

Dusting the flour from her hands, Mrs. Parsons looked suitably chastised. "My apologies, Mr. Sutcliffe. I—" she abruptly stopped in her tracks.

Mr. Sutcliffe pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is it, Mrs. Parsons?"

The portly housekeeper let out a deep breath and collapsed in the nearby dinette. "I keep thinking about that strange little girl…"

Mr. Sutcliffe was a man of intellect and thought himself of straightforward, candid character. He loathed to admit it, but the odd girl – in her bizarre clothes and distinctive way of speaking – kept intruding on his thoughts.

There was a long pause before he spoke. "I do too, Mrs. Parsons," he said. "I do too."

* * *

 **A/N: taking into account C.S. Lewis's timeline and WWII, this story occurs in middle- to late-1941, after the Blitz and before the raids in the spring of 1942. The Pevensies have returned from Kirke's estate and will begin school in the fall, preceding _Prince_ _Caspian_. **

**The next chapter will have Alba finally meeting the Pevensies! Well, meeting them properly...**


End file.
